


The One Where It's All House's Master Plan

by zulu



Series: Parrot's Genderfuck [5]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: Multi, for:jessalae livelongnmarry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-18
Updated: 2009-10-18
Packaged: 2017-10-02 13:47:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zulu/pseuds/zulu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"House has this idea..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One Where It's All House's Master Plan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jessalae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessalae/gifts).



> This story is part of [Parrot's Genderfuck](http://community.livejournal.com/parrotfic/12922.html) 'verse. It follows [The One Where House (Sort Of) Gets His Comeuppance](http://queenzulu.livejournal.com/356583.html), and it is contiguous with [The One Where They're Boys and Girls](http://sabinelagrande.livejournal.com/228874.html) by (who I credit most gratefully for the inspiration to write this) and with 's [The One Where It All Ends](http://deelaundry.livejournal.com/95652.html). And, last but never least, thank you to for the beta. (Whew!)

**The One Where It's All House's Master Plan**

The flash went off in Wilson's face, blinding him for the crucial three seconds in which, otherwise, he would have been grabbing House's camera and smashing it against the nearest solid object. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Gathering blackmail material," House said comfortably. Wilson blinked the afterimages away, only to find that House hadn't so much as made a move to keep the camera safe. He was lying in bed, naked, and somehow he looked even more disconcerting (more disconcerting, that was, than the swell of his breasts and hips and the slight dip at his waist already made him) with the camera in his hands, happily going back through the past few pictures. "God, this is awesome."

"House," Wilson said, in a voice that--he could remember it, really--once would have been disapproving, commanding, and, well...not nearly as squeaky. "Delete it!"

"Why, because only your intended should see you that way?" House barely glanced over the camera, as if even a sneer was too much effort. "Newsflash: she already saw you eating me out, and she went to Cuddy for comfort." The sneer lost and transmuted a few letters and became a full-blown leer without losing a millimetre of its self-satisfaction. "Cuddy tells me the best bedtime stories."

Wilson blinked, and not, this time, because of the camera flash. He could feel incredulous hurt (and hurt had three dozen different flavours now; he was almost amazed that he could name the nuances of his emotions as if they were Ben &amp; Jerry's flavours) welling up from somewhere around the constriction in his throat.

"And by _bed_time, I mean--Oh, God, are you ovulating?"

"_No_," Wilson defends himself, behind a sniffle.

House handwaves this aside. "Pregnancy hormones, whatever. You have the girliest biochemistry of anyone I know. I'll set up the foursome if it'll make you feel better."

*

It does, marginally. Waking up cuddled under Cuddy's muscular arm and with his nose buried against the clean-sweat smell of Cameron's shoulder makes Wilson feel like his embryo's going to turn out to be the most provided-for offspring in the whole _homo sapiens_ tribe.

When he looks up, though, House is sitting apart from the three of them, on the far side of the bed, and studying their various naked bodies with the abstracted air of an artist at a substandard installation. He's smoking, which he rarely does, but it seems to be linked in some way to getting all the pleasures out of life that he doesn't ordinarily allow himself. He lets a trail of smoke trickle out of his nostrils, and then stubs out the cigarette in a mug on the bedside table. He takes a moment, long enough for Wilson to really start dreading whatever he's about to come out with before he speaks.

"You know," he says. "This would be even more fun with Chase."

Cuddy wakes up, then, with low, rumbling sort of groan that eases into a yawn. "Count me out," she says. She lifts her arm off Wilson, giving his breast a fond (yet, Wilson sniffs to himself, amazingly chauvinist) squeeze before she climbs easily to her feet. "Four's as far as I want to go. If the bed breaks, we'll all look ridiculous."

"Stamina not what it once was, Cuddy?" House taunts, obviously with the hope of being proved wrong.

Wilson glances over his shoulder. Cuddy lifts her arms, stretching, her chest expanding and her abs tightening as she twists her torso. Her cock isn't quite flaccid, just full enough to hint at the possibilities inherent in morning erections. Somehow Wilson doubts her stamina is the problem. He pulls himself a little closer to Cameron, pushing the curve of his belly against her, so that no one can accuse him of, well, actively cheating when his fiancee and father of his child is _right there_. Even if she is regrettably sleeping through the best morning Wilson's had in a while. Cuddy finishes her stretch and bends over to gather her clothes together. Wilson manages to repress both a whimper and a blush, which overall, in this body, is probably the greatest feat he's managed so far.

When she has all her things, Cuddy turns back to House and shakes her head. "The logistics of running an entire hospital--_while_ every doctor I have is more interested in their anatomy than their specialties--is probably easier than organising an orgy."

House shrugs equably and picks up his digital camera--it's only then that Wilson remembers the far-too-prominent role it played last night. He can only be desperately grateful that if (when) they all change back to their original selves, the many, _many_ naked pictures House has posted on the internet won't be immediately recognizable as them. "Want to come over for the slideshow after?"

Cuddy smiles wolfishly, and walks around to House's side of the bed, tugging him into a deep possessive kiss, holding his head back by the long, wavy fall of his hair. It doesn't end until she's sucked and nibbled out a very prominent hickey along House's throat, and House's hand has already sneaked down between his legs to make the most of the situation. Then she pulls back and sweeps her clothes off the bedroom floor, giving Wilson a smile goodbye.

"_God_," House says. "I'll take that as a yes."

*

Wilson's not quite as sanguine, since he'll be the one trying to convince Cameron once she finally opens her eyes. He kisses her lips softly to wake her up. She shakes her head, mumbling, and tries to burrow deeper under the covers.

House is still watching, although he's out of bed and marginally more dressed now; another shockingly (or, well, it _would_ be shocking if it weren't House) scandalous (again, taking not-House as given) sheer, lacy...Wilson runs out of adjectives before he stops staring, but...anyway, House is wearing a bra and panty set that he somehow manages to imply he deliberately colour-coordinated with the flames rising up the side of his cane. Even his scar adds to the look more than detracts from it. "Think it was when we traded off blowing her, or when Cuddy fucked her while she was doing you, that really tired her out?" he asks, in the true spirit of scientific inquiry.

"House, could you get out for _one minute_?" Wilson covers his eyes with his hand and tries to wake up as much as he can before coffee. "And...without saying a word about the length of time you've been open and proud about your lesbianism?"

House huffs, but he leaves them alone. "Remember," he says brightly on his way out, and finishes that thought with a meaningful cupping of his hands in front of his own breasts, miming exactly why they should all do this again, except with the significant addition of Chase.

Wilson isn't certain that more breasts are always going to be the right answer. But then he pauses, blinks, and rethinks that thought. "Allison, honey," he says, shaking her shoulder gently until she wakes up, smiles sleepily at him, and goes for second base without a thought. "House has this idea..."

*

Chase blinks at him when Wilson opens the door. "House called me for a consult?" he says, but his eyes are already darting past Wilson to the rest of the apartment. Realization follows about three seconds later, but to Chase's credit his only reaction is a flutter of his long, thick eyelashes. "Wilson, I think you're trying to seduce me."

House appears in the hallway, an _everything is falling into place now_ amusement lighting his eyes. He's wearing a dress that's surprisingly demure ("Chase has _got_ to have nun fantasies, but do you know how much it costs to rent a wimple?" was his answer when Wilson remarked on it). He waves Wilson back from the door so that Chase, the hapless fly, can be drawn into his web. With a long, lingering look, he gives Chase all the non-verbal approval that he's probably been waiting for since he was a sniffly little kid. "My, my. All that and American pop culture knowledge too."

"What do you want, House?"

"What, it isn't obvious?"

"I'm not going to comfort you because Foreman won't fuck you."

House bristles slightly at that, but before Wilson can ask (though he makes a mental note to do it later, and to laugh in House's face directly afterward), House is stomping back to the bedroom. "Please," he calls over his shoulder. "I've tapped that, and it's nothing I couldn't get from the three of you."

_That_ catches Chase's attention, and he swings his gaze back to Wilson. "Three...?"

Wilson shrugs and offers a helpless smile. It's not helpless at all, really, since he's the one who convinced Cameron that it _would_ be nice if she was the one they tied up this time, and held out the silk bonds enticingly while testing the fabric of her inseam with one very curious fingernail. But as an inducement for Chase, it works exactly as it should.

*

"See, baby," Wilson says to Cameron, sliding onto the bed beside her, and admiring the strain in her triceps as she tries to pull away from the headboard toward him. "I told you it'd be worth it."

"Yeah, I--" Cameron's voice cracks, her eyes flicking over Wilson's shoulder for a second. He casually follows her gaze, and he has to admit, it's a sight that would have him speechless too. House has backed himself into a wall and pulled Chase after him. They're kissing, Chase's lips opening with all apparent willingness under House's insistence, and Wilson feels himself get wet and jealous in the same instant.

House's face is more angular than Chase's, and his hair is chestnut-dark rather than Chase's pure, natural platinum. He's taller, though not by much, so that even though his back is to the wall, he still has to dip his head to cover Chase's mouth with his. His hand looks perfectly at home as it curves possessively over Chase's ass. Wilson can't help watching, his breathing speeding up until it's light and quick. House has this entirely natural way of giving in and pushing for more that he throws himself into headfirst when he's too turned on to think objectively about how to best manipulate his partners. He's doing it right now: his body sprawled wantonly against the wall as if he's already horizontal, and his free hand determinedly working, far too dextrously considering his probable level of arousal, on any fastening that might be keeping Chase dressed.

"_James_..." Cameron's been watching, too, but she can't do anything about it. Her desperation is endearing, and Wilson smiles softly as he kisses her.

The tension in her body as she pulls against the silk is more gratifying than he could have known. Last night, he'd responded almost elementally to House's smugness and Cameron's tenderness when they did this to him, and he knows how it feels, now, that combination of trust and frustrated desire. If he looks down, he'll be able to _see_ it, in the twitch of Cameron's erection, the way she's making half-formed thrusts, her legs spread too far apart to give her enough leverage for more. "It _was_ a good idea," he says, his lips still close to hers, more to tease her than to reinforce the point--she _does_ still hate admitting when House's ideas were good ones. Wilson gives in to the urge to touch her, slipping his hand around her cock and teasing her. Her lips are slightly rough from not shaving for a few days, but her dick is smooth and hot in his fingers. Wilson moans softly and presses his pubis against the jut of Cameron's hipbone, the pleasure rushing hot enough to dissolve any doubts. This has become familiar, and as good, in its own way, as House's more exuberant approach to gender-switched sex. He can still hear House and Chase in the background, but if they're not even going to bother making it to the bed, then Wilson's not going to wait on them. The sound of House's gasps, though, is familiar, and once, a sharp cry that must be Chase's makes Wilson look up from kissing Cameron's neck. Other than that, though, he's listening to Cameron's whimpers and scratchy, whispered pleadings for him to actually _do_ something.

Before he can, the bed jostles and shifts. "Mind if we join this party?" House smirks down at Cameron and bats Wilson's hand aside. "Can't make it _too_ easy on her."

Cameron grits her teeth, a muscle in her jaw contracting. "Next time, we're tying _you_ up."

Wilson's watching House's face, and he sees his reaction to that: either he's incredibly turned on by the idea that Cameron's already admitting to wanting to do this again, or else they really haven't explored all the finer details of House's desire to get fucked as thoroughly and as often as he can.

"If Wilson's not going to, then let me," Chase says. He's on Wilson's other side, where Wilson didn't see him immediately, but he turns, and immediately, he knows that House's idea was a better one than even he knew. Every promise of Chase's body is amply--and, yes, Wilson means _amply_\--fulfilled. Cameron looks like she's about to faint from lack of cerebral blood pressure. Even House's self-satisfaction has a tinge of awe to it.

"Be my guest," he says, smirking, and runs a hand down Cameron's chest before he scrambles out of Chase's way. Chase tosses his hair back--he's seem to found the knack of it, and it's a less haughty gesture than House always manages to make it, but it's still a definite sign of _Out of my way, I know what I'm doing_. He kneels between Cameron's (rather knobby, but Wilson knows you can't pick _everything_ about your child's genes) knees, and then Cameron _twists_ against the restraints, packing a gasp and a groan into the same moment. Wilson can see Chase's lips wrapped around her cock, the flirtatious _oh yeah_ in his eyes as he takes her in and then slowly pulls back, maintaining suction the entire way. Cameron seems to have skipped out of this particular plane of existence, at least judging by the number of deities she's calling on.

"God, I _knew_ it," House says, riveted. "God _meant_ that mouth for blowjobs." He suddenly pushes Wilson over on his back, practically _diving_ across Cameron to complete the ridiculous maneuver, but he seems to manage it without hurting his leg, and then Wilson's arms are full of squirming, enthusiastic, turned-on House.

It almost surprises him, even after a few months, that he knows exactly what to do in that situation.

And then House is biting and sucking at his earlobe, and Wilson forgets that he ever had higher-order thought processes. There's only House's weight over the slight bulge of Wilson's lower abdomen, the wet heat of his mouth, the lightning shock of his fingers pinching Wilson's nipple, and the amazing friction when House's good thigh falls between his. Wilson moans, "_House_," before he gives himself over entirely to returning as much pleasure as he's receiving. If he knows House--and _God_, he _does_\--this is going to last all damn night, and be worth it every second.

Wilson breathes out House's name when he comes; that, too, has become too familiar to ever give up.

*

"Was it everything you dreamed it would be?" Wilson asks sardonically, when it's over. He's exhausted, deliciously so, feeling so relaxed that he doubts he's even going to roll over in his sleep.

House, though, the damn manic, frowns and shakes his head, then pushes his hair back out of his face. "Not quite."

Oh, God. Wilson would scrub a hand over the bridge of his nose, but he doesn't have the energy, so instead he simply collapses back into Cameron's arms. "What _now_?"

House is already poking Chase in the ribs. When that doesn't produce the lightspeed results he's looking for, he pinches Chase's nipple, which shoots Chase out of bed with a high-pitched yell before he's fully awake.

"Chase!" House snaps. "Have you ever considered the anatomical implications of childbirth?"

Chase's gorgeous mouth falls open, his large, liquid aquamarine eyes seeming even wider as he struggles to follow House's train of thought. Years of Diagnostic Department instinct rush to his aid. "Uh...no?"

House slings an arm across Chase's shoulders--half, it seems, for balance, and half to push Chase determinedly out of the room. Wilson would be suspicious, but he's already half asleep, so that he barely hears, "...pushing a melon out of an opening initially the size of a kidney bean..." before he's falling wonderfully, unconcernedly, and exhaustedly into sleep.

*

The next morning, Wilson snaps awake to House's triumphant, "Ta _da_!"

For the very first second, Wilson barely realizes what's happened, because Chase looks so familiar. The second after that, it snaps into place. Where once Chase had the curves that only plastic surgery or long years praying at an altar to Aphrodite could produce, he's now--well, himself. Blond, but not cascades of tousled curls blonde; tanned, but not flawless frolicking-naked-on-a-tropical-paradise tanned. Shirtless, he's not the fifty-car-pile up waiting to happen that he once was, but the view is still very, _very_ nice.

"Uh," Chase says, and clears his throat, as if his own deeper voice surprises even him. "I swear I didn't know."

House slaps him reassuringly on the back. "All those years of repression are going to do you just fine as therapy. Short version: there, there, identity crisis, no one cares."

"I care!" Wilson yelps. "You're supposed to be _helping_ me. You're supposed to be staying _with_ me, not convincing everyone to _turn back_. You told me you didn't even know how to make it happen! What are we going to do now?"

"Now?" House looks like the cat who's just been proclaimed Lord High Commander and Supreme Ruler of Canary Planet. "Chase convinces you to stay just the way you are."

*

"That," House pants, his voice replete with satisfaction but the plotting gleam still worryingly present in his eyes, "was pretty good."

Cameron's the first one to glare at him, from where she's currently pinning Wilson to the bed, unable to move because the tangle of Chase's and House's limbs with hers. "But?"

House pulls on a considering expression. "But there's always Foreman. And I really don't think Cuddy's 'no more than four' rule is set in stone."

Wilson whimpers, thinking vaguely about the chances of sex-related deaths from exhaustion. But at least, he supposes (and he closes his eyes and groans inwardly at the thought), House was right. He's not thinking about reverting any time soon. House is...helping. Out of all of them, out of all the sex, shenanigans, and debauchery, House--House himself--

House really is thinking of the children.


End file.
